


Dol Guldur

by hennethgalad



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 11:54:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8799868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: Sauron leaves a message in Dol Guldur





	

                     

                             Dol Guldur. 

  
   

   Mithrandir smiled warmly as Thranduil rose to greet him. More than a year had passed since the destruction of Smaug and the horror of the battle which had ensued. Tranquility was returning to the elvenking. Mithrandir sighed. It was never pleasant to bear ill tidings, and these were particularly grim. The kind of tidings that seem nothing at first, but then gradually, like poison in a wound...

   Thranduil offered him wine and a seat, he accepted both gratefully and raised his glass.

   'To absent friends.' he said, Thranduil echoed him and drank. There was silence for a while, few had the patience of Thranduil. Mithrandir smiled grimly, that patience was about to discover its limits.

  
    'I have... news, Thranduil, which you will hear in time, but it will be better that you hear from me first.' He drank again. Thranduil clenched his teeth but waited. Mithrandir put his goblet down and fixed Thranduil with his keen blue eyes 'It concerns Dol Guldur, Amon Lanc as was.'

   Thranduil's eyebrows rose, it had been many centuries since they had left Amon Lanc, since the Necromancer had taken it. But he felt again the cold imprint of long fingers at his throat. 'Have you found something there ?' he asked.   
   Mithrandir frowned and shifted uncomfortably 'Yes. No. We found someone... In your old rooms. The Necromancer, or Sauron, as we now know him to be, was using your old rooms as a shrine.'

   Thranduil looked slightly repulsed, but said 'So ? And who was it that you found ?' Mithrandir sighed again.

   'It was a shrine to you Thranduil' he said 'Three large portraits, a lifesize nude statue of you in gold and...' he stopped and looked at Thranduil, pale and disgusted, and wondered how to continue. 'And... There was a young mortal, naked, chained to the floor, the living image of you.' 

  
   Thranduil felt horror stop his throat, he sat back in his chair, his hands gripping the arms, his knuckles white. He could still hear the soft deep voice, hissing obscenities...

   Mithrandir was silent for a while, watching the rage and nausea flickering across Thranduil's face. Finally Thranduil turned to him 'And the youth, could he be saved ? Who was he ?' Mithrandir nodded approvingly; the duty of a king was to concern himself first with the wellbeing of the weakest of his people; and truly, Thranduil was a king, and the boy was the weakest... 

  
   'He was a child of Rohan, he was taken as a boy while fishing on Anduin. Not by orcs either, we shall have to clear the riverbanks, there are outlaws; deserters, alas, from both sides, and those of the Enemy's troops who were at large during the events of last year.' Mithrandir sighed 'As to saving him, I cannot say. For though he had been in chains for several years, the Enemy had kept him rather as a pet than a prisoner, dandling him as a child, then seducing him when, the boy said, he was finally taller than his master.'

  
   He looked at Thranduil and shivered despite himself; the resemblance had been remarkable. Thranduil rose to his feet, his face contorted with fury, and spat coldly 'You are looking at me but thinking of that boy, that poor slave, are you not ?' Thranduil whirled away and strode across the room, fists clenched, teeth gritted 'How dare he. How dare he. In my own room.' He swore venomously for a time, cursing like an orc. Mithrandir let him rant, and sipped his wine.

   
   Finally he said 'Do not let Him trouble you. He has withdrawn. The boy is safe, Galadriel has taken him to Lothlórien, where he will almost certainly remain.' He frowned 'My heart bled for the boy, Thranduil; when Galadriel and I opened the door and found him, he was worried about his master, who had told him he loved him, though he would keep calling him...' Mithrandir himself quailed 'Calling him by your name. Of course the boy knew who you are, but not your appearance.'

   He paused and sighed. 'That was on the walls... By the way, ' he said, picking up his goblet and emptying it. Thranduil refilled it, his eyes narrow and far away. 'Beware Saruman.' said Mithrandir. 

  
   Surprised out of his train of thought, Thranduil looked up 'Saruman ? Does he threaten my realm ?'

   Mithrandir snorted 'No, but he may have designs upon your person.' Thranduil looked aghast at Mithrandir. 'Galadriel believes he went back into your rooms and cut down one of the portraits of you before the fortress was put to the torch. When Saruman saw the boy, he put his hand on the boy’s chin, turning his face back and forth, saying "Truly uncanny, it is as if..." Galadriel therefore advises that you avoid Isengard, and are not 'at home' should Saruman venture north. Merely as a precaution, you understand. But we would not wish to tempt a friend into utterances which he would later regret...' 

  
   Thranduil looked wildly about him, the roof seemed to be moving down to crush him, he felt the terrible weight of rock of the hillside overhead, he could not breathe, he would choke...

   Mithrandir was there, a hand on his shoulder, his old silver flask in his hand 'Drink this, dear friend, be at peace, there are none here who would harm you.'

   Thranduil sipped the miruvor and felt the warmth soften his wrath. They were silent for a while, but Mithrandir felt the unspoken words boiling in Thranduil's throat. Finally Mithrandir spoke.

   'Come, unburden yourself. There is nothing you could say that would shock me, after all that I have seen.' Thranduil sat back in his chair and looked thoughtfully at Mithrandir, who thought he could detect a kind of hope in Thranduil's eyes. Thanduil licked his lips, nervously, then sat up straight.

   'Very well. But you will say it is nothing, you will say I am a fool...'

   Mithrandir shook his head 'The wisest of us may say the most foolish thing, or do... Please, tell me.' 

   Thranduil sighed, and in a small choked voice told Mithrandir how the Enemy had come to Amon Lanc in disguise, how he had hovered about Thranduil, how he had put his hand on Thranduil's throat. Thranduil stood with a grimace and turned back the high collar he always wore 'Here,' he said, pointing to the place where his right shoulder met his neck. Mithrandir looked in horror, he could see, like a grey shadow, the prints of long fingers   
'It is cold, all the time, and the more tired or in pain I am, the more intense the cold.' He turned away, the muscles bunching in his broad shoulders as his fists clenched and unclenched. Facing away from Mithrandir he said, sounding as one confessing to a crime 'He tried to seduce me Mithrandir.'

   Mithrandir nodded, he had always assumed so. Thranduil spun round and stared into Mithrandir's eyes, and for the first time since Dol Guldur, Mithrandir felt cold with fear. Thranduil almost hissed the words 'What if I had acceded to his... to him. Would I now feel this' he gestured to his throat 'more... more widely ?' He grimaced with horror and turned away again, red with rage and embarrassment. 

  
   Mithrandir raised his eyebrows and sighed. He had never spoken to anyone who had survived the Enemy's advances, until the boy. Thranduil might be the only one who had refused and lived to tell the tale. Mithrandir rose and touched Thranduil's arm.

   'Please sit, my dear friend, and take a drink with me. You have had a shock and you are upset.'

   Thranduil shuddered, then nodded and sat down. Mithrandir looked thoughtfully at him, he was professionally fascinated by the scar, but knew that this was not the moment for such questions. It was plain that Thranduil had yet to reveal his full trouble.  
   'Thranduil ' he said gently 'Beasts must suffer in silence, but those who speak have words.'

   Thranduil looked up at him, as though from deep in a black pit. 'Mithrandir...' he said quietly 'I was tempted.'

   Mithrandir blinked at him 'Yes ?' he said finally. Thranduil looked at him as if he had not been heard. Mithrandir snorted 'That is your terrible secret ? That you were tempted ? Númenor was tempted, and they succumbed, and were destroyed. Eregion was tempted, and they succumbed and were destroyed. The Enemy himself was tempted, and he succumbed. He too will be destroyed.

   But you, like everyone else, were tempted, and you resisted. It is not your thoughts that matter, though dwelling on darkness will cast a pall over your heart; it is your deeds. You refused. You did not even know who he was. But you felt suspicious, and time has proven the wisdom of your heart. Your body responded to the attractive suitor, but your heart knew he was false. There is nothing for which you need rebuke yourself, nothing at all.'

  
   Thranduil seemed to breathe more easily. After a time spent gazing blankly before him, seeing only the past, he spoke 'Dol Guldur casts a long shadow.'

   Mithrandir looked at him, his own eyes seeing back into the past, recalling Melkor himself, and the form in which he had seduced Mairon, the Enemy. In that same form Melkor had approached Mithrandir. He understood temptation, but knew that neither he himself, nor anyone else, would ever tell Thranduil how very much he resembled the form Melkor had chosen for his seductions.

   After a long silence, Thranduil said 'But why me ? The... the hatred he must have... to go to all that trouble... There was an artist, long ago, from Eregion, sent by Celebrimbor; he drew us all, my family, I mean. But there is no... I have never stood for a' he swallowed 'for a statue...' 

  
   Mithrandir smiled wryly. Thranduil was very well brought up, but perhaps a little too sheltered. With his looks, which he had from both his parents, he must have been very protected indeed to have remained unaware of the effect he had on others. Of course, Oropher himself had had many suitors, but he had been a different kind of person to Thranduil, much warmer and more approachable. Thranduil was cold and remote even to Mithrandir who had known him so very long. It was hard to imagine anyone making a coarse remark to Thranduil. Except the Enemy. 

  
   'Why you ?' he said 'It is the burden which beauty imposes upon those gifted with it.'

   Thranduil looked disbelieving. 'Beauty ? Celeborn is beautiful, Galadriel is beautiful, my wife even, but not I...'

   Mithrandir sipped his wine 'Do you have an alternative explanation to suggest ?'

   Thranduil sighed 'No. But I feel...' he grimaced 'Fouled. Corrupted. Guilty.'

   Mithrandir brought his fist down on the carven arm of his chair 'No ! You are in no way to blame ! He was not drawn to you as a kindred spirit, it was your beauty. If there was any evil in you it would have accepted his wishes, and we two would never have met again.' They both thought of the boy, left behind in Dol Guldur; thrown back like a small fish. 'But look to your borders, Thranduil, my friend, double the watch. We were meant to find that boy, YOU were meant to hear of it. The boy was a message, as well as being the Enemy's play-thing. You must be on your guard, Thranduil, he is coming for you.'

 

 

 


End file.
